An Unconventional Affair of the Heart
by Miz Thang
Summary: Harry wants to know what they are. All Draco really has is a word that isn’t love.


**Title: **An Unconventional Affair of the Heart  
**Author:** Miz Thang  
**Characters/Pairing: **Harry Potter, HP/DM  
**Rating:** FRM  
**Word Count: **928  
**Warnings:** None. Slash, obviously.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything but the little story's idea. Everything else belongs to who it belongs to.  
**Summary: **Harry wants to know what they are. All Draco really has is a word that isn't love. For **30hath**'s Jan 11th-an affair of the heart.

Malfoy can make him smile, even when Harry very much feel like hitting him. Hard. A sign that the world's ending, Harry's sure, as Harry's been smiling more than actually hitting the blond lately.

"This doesn't mean I don't hate you," Harry mutters in his ear when they're alone, free to do whatever it is they do in their place.

"Smiles can be hidden; laughter cannot."

According to the world of Draco Malfoy, that is.

Undeniably, unfortunately, he's right. It doesn't take long for Hermione and Ron to notice that Harry's spending less and less time angsting. Not that they've connected it to Malfoy. Small favors.

"One day," Draco pants while under him in their secret place, "One day, you'll slip up and they'll find out and want every sordid detail about your feelings for me and mine for you."

"It's simple, " Harry replies. "We hate each other."

Some part of him feels as if he's lying.

He sleeps in a foggy haze of clouds and smiles and laughter, wonderful touches and kisses and everything in between. It's all a dream, he thinks, because he doesn't feel this way when he's awake, but some parts of it are too real to deny.

"I love you," he whispers breathlessly into Draco's ear.

When he wakes up, he's sweating and hopes that it isn't true.

When Harry enters the great hall one morning, Draco sends a barely noticeable smile Harry's way and he feels as if maybe it's just a bit okay that Harry doesn't hate him anymore.

Later, when they're alone in their secret place, he asks Draco what they are.

"An unconventional affair of the heart."

Harry just may like the sound of that.

One day, Harry asks him, because he has to, "Are we…in love?"

"Love is just a four-letter word that doesn't define anything." Draco tells him, somewhat condescendingly, as if, for once, he actually expected more from Harry.

Harry thinks that Draco's definition sounds a lot like someone who'd rather be in denial, but decides to play his game.

"What do you think will happen at the war?" Draco asks him one night.

The war. Harry always forgets about it the moment he and Draco skip off for time alone in their place. He tells Draco that he doesn't really want to think about it.

"You have to, Potter. Next thing you know, someone you care about will be dead."

Harry thinks about Sirius and wonders if it isn't already too late for that.

"Do you love me?" Draco asks. He's floating in the sky, above the clouds, with Draco again, and they're alone. "Do you really love me?"

Harry doesn't know how to answer and wakes up with his heart pounding in his chest.

Draco sleeps on beside him, unknowing of Harry's personal dilemma.

What if love is more than a four-letter word and Draco's severely wrong?

There's a war going on outside and Harry ignores it because he'd rather stay inside where there's only him and Draco and…and affection?

"What are we?" Harry demands one day in greeting instead of a kiss.

"An unconventional affair of the heart." Draco says for the second time and then leans forwards to kiss Harry, making everything fuzzy again.

Harry rolls over in his bed and curls an arm around Draco's waist in his sleep.

"If I told you that I might love you, what would you say?" Harry asks in the middle of a game of chess.

Draco stares at him for the longest moment. "I'd ask you to find a different word."

"I'm being serious, Draco."

"And I'm not? An unconventional affair of the heart – when you find me the right word, that isn't love, we'll talk."

They have their own rhythm, Harry and Draco. And Harry likes it that way. An unconventional affair. They're unique, different. It's better that way, if not easier.

Draco lies under him, and he's not dreaming anything this time because Draco's with him, hair damp, eyes wide, face flushed and Harry realizes then that, no, of course, he doesn't love Draco.

"There are no words that can actually describe how I feel about you." He murmurs later, when they're resting and lying in a tangled mess in their special place. Hate, love, it all mixes up together into something new.

Draco smiles tiredly at him. "Glad you finally got it."

They slip off into sleep together.

A battle. That's what love is. A battle. Harry doesn't love Draco. No. The feeling is more than love; it's something so all encompassing that he can't rightly describe it. What Harry's fighting is a war.

He tells Ron and Hermione, because they should know. But he doesn't ask (or care) what they think. He's gotten something that actually makes him happy, and he's decided to keep it (he's also suspicious that Hermione thinks so too). He'll keep it to his heart, and he'll hold on to it for as long as he can.

"I think about you more hours in the day than not." Draco whispers as they lie in their special place, waiting for sleep to overcome them.

"I'm flattered." Harry replies and Draco scowls. Harry kisses him. "I do the same for you. But it isn't love."

"No." Draco moves closer to him and Harry allows it, because he loves having Draco near. "It's the best thing that's ever happened to us."

"And what would you call that, just to be specific?"

"An unconventional affair of the heart, of course."

-end.


End file.
